


Thanksgiving Break

by LindeHobbit



Series: Writing Our Hearts [6]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:01:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindeHobbit/pseuds/LindeHobbit
Summary: Elio and Oliver are excited to spend Thanksgiving Break together. However, Elio comes down with the flu just as the break begins.





	1. An Unexpected Message

**Author's Note:**

> This installment continues the story I've been telling in my series, "Writing Our Hearts." It can stand alone, but you'll probably enjoy it more if you read the earlier stories.
> 
> I'm sorry that I did a disappearing act for a while! A very busy late-spring, and an AMAZING two week vacation to Ireland, took me away from my writing routine. But I'm back at it. Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> Your comments mean SO MUCH to me, and help me know what's working (and not working) in my writing. Thank you!
> 
> As always, please do not repost my work without my permission. Thank you.

It was Thursday evening, a week before Thanksgiving. One more day of classes until Thanksgiving vacation. Oliver climbed the stairs to his apartment slowly, daydreaming about eating some leftovers, watching a little TV with his feet up, and turning in early. It was the time in the semester when everyone was tired, faculty and students alike. The holiday break (time with Elio!) was almost, but not quite, within reach. One more night and day, and then his love would be with him for an entire week!

Oliver pushed his key into the lock and swung the door open. In the dark of the room, the red pulsing of the answering machine caught his attention right away. “Oh what now,” he grumbled. He set his briefcase down, slipped out of his coat, and hung his keys on their hook by the door. _Adult beverage first,_ he thought, going to the refrigerator for a beer. With the cold bottle grasped comfortingly in his hand, the promise of relaxation after a long day, Oliver pressed the crimson, flashing button on the machine, hoping it was just a junk call that could be deleted without a second thought. Instead, a melodious voice with a thick southern accent greeted him.

“Hi, um, Oliver, this is Dave, Elio’s roommate at Juilliard. He gave me your number a while ago in case I ever needed to reach him when he’s staying over with you. Anyway, it’s Thursday afternoon around 4:00-o’clock. So, um, I’m calling because Elio’s really sick…he came down with the flu. And I have to leave for the airport in a couple of hours; I’m flying home for Thanksgiving break tonight. I’m, um, just worried about him being alone in the room tonight and all day tomorrow, you know? So I wondered if you might want to come get him and bring him to your place? If you can make it over to Juilliard by 6:00, I can meet you and let you in before I have to go. I’ll listen for the phone. Hope to hear from you! Thanks Oliver.”

Dave’s voice stopped. There was a click as the line disconnected, and the machine beeped. Oliver stood motionless in the silence for a moment, still holding his unopened beer. Then he looked at his watch: 5:09 PM. He could make it to Juilliard if he left right now. He’d call first. Oliver returned the beer to the fridge, and grabbed the little scrap of paper where he’d scribbled down the floor phone number for Elio’s dorm. He dialed the numbers quickly and waited, tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter while the call connected.

Someone answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hi, may I speak to Dave please?”

“This is Dave. Oliver?”

“Yep. Hey man, thanks so much for calling me.”

“Sure thing! I’m just glad you got the message.”

“Me too! So, I’m about to walk out the door. I should be there before 6:00.”

“OK, great! Thanks. I’ll wait for you outside the dorm.”

“Sounds good. How will I recognize you?”

“Umm…I’ve got reddish messy hair, and I’ll be wearing a black ‘I Love NY’ t-shirt. Same question to you.”

“Well, I’ve got blonde hair and I’m really tall. I’m dressed like a preppy Columbia professor because, ha, I guess I am one.”

Dave laughed. “Got it, thanks. See you soon.”

“Yep. Later.”

All thoughts of tiredness were driven out of Oliver’s mind by his need to get to Elio, and quickly. Dave said it was just the flu, but sometimes flus could become serious. Elio never seemed to get sick, so it was hard for Oliver to imagine him feeling so ill. He put his coat back on, grabbed his keys, and headed out, racing down the stairs and onto the street.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the subway near Lincoln Center, and made his way to Juilliard. A tall, slender guy with strawberry blonde hair falling across his face stood outside the dormitory wearing the requisite black t-shirt. When Oliver approached him, his mouth fell open and his eyes got very wide for a moment before he schooled his expression into a friendly smile.

“Dave?” Oliver extended his hand. It was grasped in a warm handshake.

“That’s me! Hi Oliver. Nice to meet you. You’re, um, taller than I’d imagined.”

Oliver chuckled. “Yes, most people aren’t expecting a 6’5” philosophy professor.”

Dave laughed, and then held the door to the dormitory open for Oliver. “Shall we?”

Oliver followed him to the elevators. As they moved, Dave filled him in.

“So, Elio started to feel a little crappy last night; he complained of a headache before bed. And when his alarm went off this morning, he didn’t get up. I asked if he was OK, and he said he just needed to sleep, but it’s really not like Elio to miss class. And when I got back to the room this afternoon, it was clear that he’d barely moved. I felt his forehead, and it was definitely hot. I made him drink a little water, but I don’t think he’s eaten anything since dinner last night.”

“Yep, definitely sounds like the flu. I’m glad you called me.”

“Me too. I feel a lot better about leaving knowing that you’re taking care of my roomie.”

Oliver smiled at him. Dave seemed as kind and thoughtful as Elio had described him.

They reached the room. Oliver grinned at the whiteboard on the door, a fat dry erase marker dangling from a string attached to it. “Dave and Elio” was scrawled across the top of the board in tall spidery letters. Underneath each name, the respective person (presumably) had drawn something. Dave’s self-portrait was a caricature with a huge head, its cavernous mouth open in singing. Elio had drawn himself as some sort of alien, antennae sticking out of his curly head, leaning against a piano. Oliver noticed that someone had written “E, you alive???” on the board. It made him happy to think that so many people cared about Elio here.

Dave unlocked the door. The air inside felt stuffy. Oliver looked around the small, dim space, making out a closet, pairs of desks and dressers, a couple of yellow bean bag chairs, and the bunked beds. Posters of various sizes covered the white cinderblock walls.

Dave flipped on the overhead light. “If you want to work on getting Elio up, I can pack a bag with some clothes for him,” he offered.

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks.”

Oliver approached the beds, and noticed a spray of dark curls sticking out from under the comforter on the top bunk. He slipped his hand beneath the covers and began rubbing Elio’s back gently. He heard a sigh and a weak cough.

“Elio, I’m here.”

“Mmmm. Feels good.”

“You need to wake up,” Oliver said, pulling the comforter down to reveal Elio’s face.

One eye cracked open. “Oliver? You’re here?”

“Yes, goose, I’m here.”

“Wait, here at Juilliard? How?”

“I called him, El,” Dave said from the other side of the room as he stuffed some clothes into Elio’s backpack. “You’re really sick, and I have to leave for Thanksgiving. I didn’t think you should be alone.”

“Oh. OK. Thanks.”

Oliver’s hand made gentle circles across Elio’s hot back. “Can you turn over for me, love? I’ll help you get down.”

Elio rolled over slowly. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glazed like green glass bottles. Oliver caressed his forehead and noticed its unnatural heat.

“Can you sit up? If you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, I’ll help you down.”

Elio pushed himself to a sitting position, grunting with the effort. Oliver put his arms around Elio’s middle and helped him scoot to the edge of the bed. From there, Oliver lifted him down and deposited him in his desk chair.

“Nicely done!” Dave said. “Here are some clothes for him.”

“Thanks man.”

Oliver managed to get Elio dressed with occasional help from the patient, who was mostly collapsed over his desk with his head resting on his arms.

“Elio, I’m taking you back to my place. We’ll get a cab, but can you walk to the elevator, and then outside? I’ll help you.” 

“Yes, I think I can do that,” Elio said quietly, lifting his head from the desk. “So dizzy.”

“You can hold onto me.”

Oliver supported Elio as he stood up, and Dave helped to get him into his coat and scarf. Soon the three men headed to the elevator, and made their way out of the dorm and down to the street corner. Elio walked slowly, his arm around Oliver’s waist. Oliver’s arm encircled Elio’s shoulders; he lifted his other arm to hail a cab.

Dave, who had been carrying Elio’s backpack, set it down beside Oliver. It was the same yellow and blue bag that Oliver remembered from their Bergamo trip. “I packed some clean shirts, undies, and socks for him. And I put some school stuff in there too so that he can do work when he’s feeling better.”

“Thanks Dave. I really appreciate your help.”

“Happy to. Well, I’d better get moving. I’m heading to Penn Station, so I’m going downtown.”

“Flying out of Newark?”

“Yep.”

“You sure packed light,” Oliver said, pointing to Dave’s only luggage, a black backpack.

“Don’t need to take many clothes ‘cause it’ll be warm in South Carolina...I left a lot of my warm weather stuff there.”

“Makes sense. Hey man, thanks again for calling me.”

“Absolutely! Really glad to have met you, Oliver.”

“Likewise. Have a great break! Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Thanks, y’all too. And I hope Elio gets better soon.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Bye roomie! Feel better!” Dave said warmly, giving Elio’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks Dave. Have a good trip home.”

“Yep. See you in a week,” Dave called over his shoulder as he moved away from them on the sidewalk, his pack bouncing lightly on his shoulders.

Just then, a cab pulled over, and Oliver tucked Elio inside, climbing in beside him. “104th and Amsterdam, please,” Oliver called to the driver.

They headed uptown, Elio nearly dead weight against Oliver’s shoulder. The cab driver gave them a couple of concerned looks in his rearview mirror but did not ask.

When they stopped in front of Oliver’s building, Oliver pulled Elio’s backpack onto his own back, handed the driver his fare, and then stepped out, offering Elio both his hands. He pulled Elio to his feet, closing the car door behind him, and maneuvered him up the steps to the front door.

“OK love, this is the hard part. There’s no elevator here. We can go as slow as you need to, but we have to get up to the fourth floor.”

Elio nodded tiredly. “We’ll get there.”

For the first two flights of stairs, Elio managed pretty well, climbing slowly but steadily as Oliver supported him. But then he was racked by some impressive coughing, and all the energy seemed to drain out of him. Oliver made a quick decision. He knelt in front of Elio on the stair landing.

“Climb on my back.”

Elio was too exhausted to argue, or even to make a game out of it. He looped his arms around Oliver’s neck, and wrapped his legs around his waist, resting his head on Oliver’s back.

Oliver jogged up the last two flights of stairs. He didn’t put Elio down until he was inside his apartment. He sat down on the end of the couch, and Elio rolled off his back into the softness of the cushions. Oliver helped him out of his coat and scarf.

Elio stretched out on the couch and sighed. “Oh thank God,” he murmured, already staring to drift off again. Oliver took in the picture he made, his curls framing his flushed face, his body limp with fatigue. He tried not to worry. This was just a bad flu. He’d seen a lot of his students get it, and they all recovered.

Oliver went to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with cool water. He brought it to Elio. “Before you’re too unconscious, drink some water please.”

“Don’t want to move.”

“Elio, you need water. My Bubbie used to say that fluids are the most important thing when you’re sick.”

“OK, I won’t argue with Bubbie. She’d probably come back and haunt me if I did,” Elio said, lifting his head and reaching for the glass.

Oliver chuckled. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Elio took a long, slow drink. And another. And another. “Wow. I hadn’t realized how thirsty I was.”

“It’s the fever. I’ll leave this right here,” Oliver said, taking the glass from Elio’s shaky hand and putting it on the coffee table. He smoothed Elio’s hair back from his hot forehead, placing a gentle kiss there. “Speaking of Bubbie, I have just the thing for you: her chicken soup!”

“Really?”

“Yep. I make a big pot of it in the fall every year, and freeze it in lots of little containers so I have easy meals for when I inevitably catch my winter cold. Or if I just need a little Bubbie love. I made the soup last weekend, so my timing was better than I had even thought!”

“Oliver, I really appreciate it. But I don’t know if I can eat.”

“C’mon, sure you can. I used to tell Bubbie that her chicken soup would cure cancer. I’m sure it’ll help the flu.”

“I’m just so tired. And I don’t feel hungry.”

“You need to try to eat. Please? For me?”

“OK. I’ll try.”

“Wow, I know you’re sick when you give in this easily.”

“Ha. I know. I can really be a pain sometimes, can’t I?”

“My very favorite pain,” Oliver replied, bringing Elio’s hand to his lips before laying it on the couch. He stood up then, and moved toward the kitchen area. “I’m going to go work on that soup. Do you want anything else to drink? Juice? Tea?”

Elio sat up a little so he could see Oliver over the back of the couch. “Maybe some her…(cough cough cough cough cough) herbal tea?”

“I think that’s a good idea. I’ll put lots of honey in it to help your cough.”

_“Grazie amore,”_ Elio said, collapsing back into the couch.

“I love it when you call me that. And when you speak Italian. Or French.”

_“Merci mon coeur.”_

Oliver smiled as he moved around his small kitchen, taking soup out of the freezer, and digging through a drawer for the perfect “sick” tea for Elio. He settled on a lemon herbal blend, and then emptied a cabinet shelf to find the honey, buried in the back behind some canned vegetables and a box of rice. He put the kettle on, and popped the frozen blob of soup out of its container into a pot on the stove to warm, then came back to check on the patient.

Elio had fallen asleep with one arm hanging off the couch, his face completely slack, mouth slightly open. Oliver didn’t like the way that his breath rattled in his chest, but he let him be for the moment. _I’ll prop him up to have tea and soup soon,_ he thought.

With Elio sleeping, and food and drink for him in progress, Oliver decided to heat up the leftovers for his own dinner. He had forgotten all about being hungry for a while, but now that Elio was here and settled in, Oliver’s stomach was making its emptiness known again. He threw his Chinese food on a plate and put it in the microwave, and poured himself a glass of water; the beer didn’t seem appealing anymore. He ate standing up in the kitchen, keeping an eye on both the kettle and the pot of thawing soup as he shoveled noodles into his mouth.

Soon the soup was simmering, and water was boiling in the kettle. Oliver steeped Elio’s tea, and stirred in a particularly generous dollop of honey. Standing over the stove for a moment, he stopped to inhale the familiar, comforting smell of Bubbie’s soup before ladling a little into a shallow bowl. He loaded everything onto a tray, the same one he frequently used when he ate in front of the TV alone at night, and brought it all in to Elio, who had not moved. Oliver set the tray on the coffee table, and knelt on the floor beside the couch. He caressed Elio’s curls, and placed a kiss on each of his closed eyelids. Elio stirred. Oliver kept petting his hair, and kneaded his shoulder.

“Time for tea and soup.”

“Uh huh.”

“That means you have to sit up a bit.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t choke, silly.”

“So tired.”

“I know. But you’re only going to feel more tired if you don’t give your body any fuel to fight this flu. C’mon. Let Bubbie’s soup work its magic.”

Elio’s eyes slid open, and he smiled sweetly at Oliver. “You’re very nice to me.”

Oliver kissed his cheek. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. Just…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s sit you up.”

Oliver grabbed some pillows from the other end of the couch. “Lean forward a little bit,” he said, stuffing them behind Elio’s shoulders. He settled the tray on Elio’s lap.

Elio sipped the tea first. “Mmm, this is nice.”

“I’m glad. Now try some soup.”

Elio swirled his spoon through the golden liquid. Finally, he picked up a little broth, and lifted it to his lips. He swallowed, and smiled contentedly. “Yum. That’s good soup. Mafalda would approve.”

“I’ve actually thought that Mafalda and my Bubbie would have enjoyed one another’s company. Kindred spirits.” Oliver’s eyes twinkled.

Elio took another bite. “This was a good idea. You were right, as usual.”

“Goose, I don’t need to be right. I just want you to feel better.”

“I know. Thanks.”

Elio sipped all of his tea and ate about half the soup before he was utterly exhausted and ready to sleep again. Oliver was pleased, though. There was plenty more soup for later. And he was sure that the food and drink would do Elio’s tired, dehydrated body some good.

Now that they’d both eaten, he turned his attention to what else Elio might need. He stepped into the bathroom to take stock of supplies. As he’d suspected, Oliver found his medicine cabinet sparsely populated; he’d thrown away most of his old medicines before moving this past summer. So he decided that a trip to the corner drug store was in order.

He returned to Elio. “Love, I’m going to run a quick errand, OK?”

“Ok (cough cough cough).”

“I’ll be right back.”

Oliver kissed the crown of Elio’s head, and reluctantly stood up to go. He grabbed his coat, keys, and wallet, and headed out the door, closing it softly behind him. He shivered when he stepped outside; the temperature had definitely dropped, and the air felt damp and heavy with the probability of snow. As he walked, Oliver did a quick grocery inventory in his head and decided that he actually had plenty of food for him and Elio for the next few days. So he stayed on course to the drug store on the next block.

Stepping inside the warm store, Oliver loosened his scarf and headed for the “Cold and Flu” aisle. He grabbed cough syrup and cough drops, some Tylenol, and some vapor rub for Elio’s chest. He also threw a thermometer into his basket; he’d never felt the need to own one, but he thought it would be wise to keep track of Elio’s temperature. He ventured over to the paper products aisle for tissues. And on his way to the register, he tossed a few Snickers bars into the basket… _chocolate always helps everything, right?_ he thought. Soon he was back at his apartment building, climbing the stairs to the fourth floor yet again.

Nothing had changed inside. Elio was sleeping deeply, his breath wheezing through his dry lips.

Oliver collapsed into his chair beside the couch, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline rush of getting to Elio and caring for him had begun to wane, and now his own tiredness was catching up with him again. He thought about getting up to turn on the TV, but really didn’t feel like moving. So he picked up the newspaper from the coffee table and scanned through headlines. Meanwhile, Elio slept on.

After a few minutes of relative quiet, Elio’s raspy breathing not withstanding, Oliver thought he should probably check Elio’s temperature. He reached into the plastic bag from the drug store, freeing the thermometer from its packaging, and shaking the mercury all the way down. Then he slid onto the floor beside the couch once again.

“Elio?”

No response.

Oliver began shaking Elio’s shoulder gently. “C’mon goose, wake up.”

“Grmph. What? Why?”

“I want to check your temperature. Open your mouth.”

Elio did as Oliver asked, and Oliver slid the thermometer under his tongue. They waited for the mercury to stop climbing.

“Whew! 101.7. No wonder you’re so tired.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Not the highest fever I’ve ever had though.”

“No? When was that?”

“I think I was about 6. I got a bad flu, and had a fever of 104. My parents were really worried!”

“I’ll bet! Little kids can get very high fevers, but still, I would have been worried too.”

“I barely remember it. At one point, I thought I heard Papá yell ‘Let’s go!’ to Maman and me. I asked her where we were going. I think that kind of freaked her out.”

“I’m sure.”

“Anyway, she told me that Papá hadn’t said anything, and that sometimes people hear funny things when they have fever. And that we weren’t going anywhere…we were staying home so I could rest and get better.”

“I assume you’re not hearing things with this fever?”

“Not so far. I did wonder if I was hallucinating when you showed up at Juilliard though.”

“Nope. That was me, in the flesh.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You really have Dave to thank. He called me.”

“He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, he seems like it. So, since you’re awake, how about a little more soup?”

“I can refuse you nothing.”

Oliver laughed, ruffling Elio’s curls and then moved toward the kitchen.

An hour later, Oliver watched Elio sleep, his body releasing all of its weight into Oliver’s bed, and his head and shoulders propped up on pillows. Before letting him rest again, Oliver had gotten some more of Bubbie’s miracle-working soup into Elio, and a dose of cough syrup. He’d also smeared Elio’s chest with vapor rub, and rubbed his feet as he was getting comfortable in bed. Doing the things for Elio that Oliver knew Bubbie would have done for him made Oliver feel closer to his grandmother somehow. Every day, but especially today, he was grateful for all that she’d taught him. Standing in the doorway of his own bedroom, Oliver watched the rapid rise and fall of Elio’s chest as he slept feverishly; the pungent smell of the vapor rub still hung in the air. He thought that Elio’s breath was coming a bit easier now; the coughing seemed to have calmed, and the wheezing quieted. After a long look at his love, Oliver moved back toward the living area, leaving the bedroom door open so he would hear Elio if he cried out in his sleep or called for him.

It was 9:00 pm. Oliver was tired, but he wanted to look through some notes for a meeting with a student the next day. He managed to find enough focus to get through his work, and then washed up the dinner dishes. Before getting ready for bed, he turned off the lamp in the living area and stood in front of the window for a few moments. The lights of the city twinkled around him, and the clouds hung low and heavy, muffling the usual background clatter of New York as they prepared to release their snowy payload. Oliver closed the curtains against the cold, and then went to brush his teeth. A few minutes later, he slid into bed next to Elio. Just as he was starting to drift off, Elio turned toward him in his sleep, and cuddled close. _No need for an extra blanket tonight with this human oven in bed with me,_ Oliver thought. He settled Elio’s head on his chest, kissed his warm curls, and feel asleep almost immediately.

Oliver’s alarm went off at 7:00 AM; to his surprise, the night had passed uneventfully. Elio had not stirred, so Oliver slipped out of bed as quietly as he could. The apartment had grown cold overnight; he grabbed a sweatshirt and went to adjust the thermostat. By the time he got out of the shower a few minutes later, it didn’t feel so frigid. He shaved and dressed in the damp warmth of the bathroom, and ran a comb through his wet hair. _Presentable,_ he thought.

Oliver went to the window in his living area, and drew back the long curtains. The sky was deep gray with snow clouds, and a couple of inches of white coated everything, transfiguring the city into a wintry kingdom. Snow swirled in the air, blowing in little eddies around the buildings. Oliver had never minded snow. He stepped close to the cold glass for a moment, admiring the transformed view. It was the first real snow of the winter.

He was about to head to the kitchen to make coffee when he heard a yawn, followed by a coughing fit. He stuck his head in the bedroom door.

“Good morning. You OK?”

“Morning. Yep. I think my body’s just trying to cough up my lungs. No big deal.”

Oliver sat down on the edge of the bed, and tucked a curl behind Elio’s ear. “Nope, no big deal at all. How are you feeling otherwise?”

“Well, a little less exhausted than last night. I can’t believe I basically slept all day yesterday, and all night too.”

“It’s what your body needs to do right now.”

“I guess.”

“So, I have to leave for campus in about an hour. May I make you some breakfast before I go?”

“Oliver, you’ve already done so much.”

“It is truly my pleasure. Not that I’m pleased that you’re sick, of course. But I am happy that you’re here, being sick. Does that make any sense?”

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley.”

Oliver looked puzzled, but then chuckled, shaking his head as he got the joke. “I guess I did just completely reference _Pride and Prejudice,_ however unintentionally.”

“Couldn’t resist. I love Jane Austen.”

“Me too. So anyway, Miss Bennett, would you like some breakfast?”

Elio giggled, and then started coughing again. When he finally caught his breath: “Shit. I guess I can’t laugh right now.”

Oliver narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, his expression attempting seriousness. “OK, no laughing. Got it. But how about food?”

Elio smiled, stifling a laugh. “Well, I don’t really feel hungry. But you convinced me last night that I probably need to eat a little bit anyway.”

“How about a piece of toast? And some tea?”

“I think I can do that. Thanks Oliver.”

“Want me to bring it in here, or do you want to get out of bed?”

“I should get up. It would probably be good to test how I’m actually feeling, you know?”

“Makes sense. I’m going to stay here while you stand up to make sure you’re steady.”

Elio swung his legs out of bed, and stood slowly. He wobbled a little at first, but kept his feet under him. Slowly, he padded toward the bathroom. Oliver tried not to hover.

“I’m OK, Oliver. I’ll be in soon,” Elio called over his shoulder.

“OK. I’ll go work on breakfast.”

Oliver got a pot of coffee started, put the kettle on for Elio’s tea, and began some food prep. A few minutes later, Elio shuffled into the living area, his curls defying gravity in every conceivable direction, and a blanket wrapped around him like an oversized, fuzzy cape. _Could he be any more adorable?_ Oliver thought as a rush of affection for Elio washed over him, prickling goose bumps on his arms. He took a deep breath and squeezed his own shoulders.

“Do you want any eggs?” he asked, smiling at Elio as he sank into the couch.

“No thanks. Just toast.”

A few minutes later, Oliver brought over Elio’s tea and some toast, buttered and slathered in honey. He sat in the chair next to Elio as he ate his own breakfast and sipped some coffee.

“So, I have to leave in a few minutes. I’ve got my two classes, as well as a meeting with a student, and a department meeting this afternoon…I swear my chair scheduled that one just to keep any of us from leaving early for Thanksgiving break, the fucker.”

“What a jerk.”

“Seriously! Anyway, I should be done with everything by about 4:00, and then I’ll be back, OK?

“OK. You know I’m not going anywhere.”

Oliver smiled and reached for Elio’s hand. “I’m so glad. That day, and today.”

“Me too.” Elio squeezed his hand.

“So the rest of the soup is in the fridge if you want some lunch. And I left the box of tea sitting on the counter.” Oliver stood up. “Let me refill your water glass before I go.”

“Oliver, I’ll be OK. I promise! I should probably take some more cough syrup, though.”

A moment later, Oliver set down a full glass of water, and handed Elio the bottle of red liquid and a spoon.

“Thanks. You’re the best. Really.”

“So are you, goose. That’s why I’m doing all of this.”

Elio smiled at him sweetly, and tilted his face up for kiss. Oliver deposited one on his forehead.

“Rest. I’ll see you later.”

“Yes sir.”

Oliver pulled on his coat and scarf. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Have a good day at work, honey.”

Oliver laughed as he opened the door. “Later!”

“Later,” he heard Elio reply.

_I could get used to this,_ Oliver thought. _Waking up with him every morning, coming home to him every night. But he’s only 18. It’s not fair of me to ask it of him. But still…it would be so nice. I’ll take it when I can get it._ He pushed open the door to his building, pulling his scarf up around his ears, and stepped out into the white world beyond.


	2. A Visit to Francesca's Bakery

When Oliver opened his front door on Friday evening, he heard the shower running. The blanket Elio had wrapped himself in that morning lay abandoned on the couch, a mostly empty water glass on the coffee table beside it.

Oliver crossed the living area, and opened the bathroom door. Warm steam curled around him. He could hear Elio humming.

“Elio, I’m home.”

“Hi! How was your day?"

"Long. But it's over. Happy Thanksgiving break!"

"Yahoo! You too!"

"How are you feeling?"

"I think my fever's gone…I got super hot, and then broke into a sweat. Shower feels good.”

“I bet. Great news about the fever!”

“Yeah! I feel a lot better.”

“Good! But we should still take it easy tonight, OK?”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking of going out dancing or anything.”

“Never can be too sure about you, Perlman.”

Elio laughed, and turned off the water. He opened the curtain to reach for a towel, but Oliver had already picked it up.

“Here…may I?” Oliver murmured, his eyes traveling slowly over Elio’s wet skin on glorious display.

“Sure,” Elio said, smiling a little shyly.

Oliver started with Elio’s head, toweling his curls carefully.

“You’re a lot more gentle than I am,” Elio told him.

“I don’t want to pull your hair. Now turn around so I can dry your back.”

Elio did as he was told. Starting at his neck, Oliver rubbed the towel over Elio’s shoulder blades, swept it across the small of his back, and lower, and then ran it down each leg.

“Now turn back to me.”

Oliver finished drying him off, starting at his feet and moving slowly up to his chest. Elio reached his arms around Oliver’s neck, and pulled him close. Oliver inhaled deeply, relishing the scent of warm, clean Elio. Then, without preamble, he picked Elio up and lifted him out of the tub.

“C’mon goose…I don’t want you to get cold!”

“Not likely with you around.”

Oliver laughed, and kissed him. Elio kissed back enthusiastically, threading his fingers through Oliver’s hair. Oliver chuckled into Elio’s open mouth, and then set him down on his feet.

“Oliver!” Elio whined.

“You were really sick a couple of hours ago. I think we need to refrain from, you know, too much exertion.”

“I feel fine!”

“Liar. You’re still pale, and I can see your strength about to give out after just standing up in the shower for a few minutes. I know you’re 18, but you won’t die if we don’t make love right now.”

Elio rolled his eyes, and stomped into the bedroom. Oliver laughed at him, and put the kettle on to make him some more tea. When Elio emerged a few minutes later, he was wearing his favorite of Oliver’s Columbia sweatshirts, the softest, most raggedy one, and Oliver’s navy blue sweatpants with the legs rolled up. His feet were bare, but he carried a pair of his own wool socks. He stuck out his tongue at Oliver as he crossed to the couch. But he sighed as he sank into the cushions.

“You’re right. I am still tired,” he admitted as he struggled to work the socks onto his feet between coughs.

“I’m not surprised. Don’t worry…I’ll still want you tomorrow, or whenever you feel up to it.”

“You’d better.”

“Elio, that is one thing you don’t need to worry about.”

Oliver brought the tea over.

_“Grazie, amore.”_

Oliver kissed the top of his head. “You’re welcome. So, if you feel like something besides soup tonight, we could order pizza and watch the Knicks game.”

“That sounds good. We can cuddle on the couch while we watch.”

“Perfect.”

Elio smiled at him, and sipped his tea.

They passed a relaxing evening enjoying the game and their pizza. Elio’s cough still occasionally drowned out the game’s commentators, but he stayed awake, and even yelled encouragement to his favorite player, Bernard King, from time to time. Elio had become an instant Knicks fan upon moving to New York; Oliver was secretly planning to take him to a game at Madison Square Garden for his birthday in January.

By the end of the game, Elio was nodding off again. They were both on the couch, Elio’s back against Oliver’s chest, his legs stretched out between Oliver’s longer ones. Elio’s head was pillowed on Oliver’s shoulder, and his curls tickled his cheek; Oliver turned his head to kiss them.

“Elio?”

“Mmmm.”

“Maybe we should go to bed since you’re falling asleep.”

“It’s nice here.”

“Yes it is. But after a couple more hours like this, we’ll wish we were in bed.”

“You’re probably right.”

Oliver straightened, gently pushing Elio into a sitting position. “C’mon. Let’s migrate to the bedroom. Just to SLEEP, mind you.”

“Boring,” Elio quipped, but there was no heat behind it. Oliver ruffled his curls.

“One more dose of cough syrup before bed,” Oliver insisted, sliding out from behind Elio. He grabbed the bottle of red liquid and a spoon from the coffee table, and handed them to Elio, who wrinkled his nose but took the cough syrup anyway.

In bed a few minutes later, Oliver once again smeared Elio’s chest with vapor rub, and then massaged his feet. Finally, they settled on their sides, Elio’s back warm against Oliver’s chest, Oliver’s arm snug around his waist.

“Oliver?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“You have taken the best care of me. My mom and Mafalda couldn’t have done better. Thank you.”

Oliver squeezed Elio to him, and placed kiss after kiss in his hair. “I’m glad. And I’m so relieved that you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Also thanks to your young, healthy body, and the flu not being a permanent state of affairs.”

“True. But mostly thanks to you. Give yourself some credit please.”

“OK.” Oliver kissed Elio’s shoulder gently.

It was quiet for a moment; Oliver thought Elio had drifted off. Then he spoke again.

“If I’m even better tomorrow, maybe we can go visit my friend Francesca at the bakery I’ve been telling you about.”

“Let’s see how you’re feeling in the morning. But that would be fun if you’re up for it.”

“Fun and yummy! You’ll love her pastries.”

“You had me at bakery.”

Elio laughed, and then coughed a little. Oliver rubbed his back.

“Right. No laughing. Sorry.”

“It’s OK. It’s better than this morning.”

“I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

OK, time to sleep, goose.”

“Yep. Goodnight Elio.”

Oliver smiled, and pressed a kiss to the back of Elio’s neck. “Goodnight Oliver.”

The next morning dawned clear and cold; the snow clouds had blown away, and a bright November sun sparkled on the new coat of white that had draped itself over the city. Oliver stood in front of his window enjoying the view. He heard a small sigh from the bed, so he crossed the room and slid back under the covers, stretching contentedly. It was Thanksgiving break. Elio was waking up, and smiled at him with sleepy eyes. They lay on their sides facing each other.

“Good morning,” Oliver rumbled, tracing Elio’s jaw with his finger.

“Morning.” Elio turned his head to kiss the finger.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Rested. Pretty good, actually.”

Oliver touched Elio’s forehead. “I think your fever’s gone for good.”

“Yeah. I’ve felt so much better since it went away.” Elio palmed the plane of Oliver’s bare chest.

“I’m so glad,” Oliver said, wrapping him in his arms and rolling them over so that Elio was on top of him.

“Well, someone is happy to see me,” Elio whispered, holding Oliver’s eyes as he rubbed their groins together.

“Always,” Oliver said, and kissed him hungrily. Elio sighed ecstatically into his mouth, kissing back with equal enthusiasm. The restraint of the day before made their lovemaking all the sweeter as hands, lips and bodies reconnected joyfully.

Close to an hour later, they made their way into the shower holding hands.

“I feel like I’m up for a trip to Francesca’s,” Elio said as he soaped Oliver’s back. “I really think it would do me good to get out of the apartment for a bit.”

“OK, but only if we take a cab. I don’t want you overdoing it. You’ve already had some exercise this morning,” Oliver said, waggling his eyebrows.

Elio giggled, and managed not to cough. “Deal.”

Soon they were showered and dressed. Oliver bundled himself up, then wrapped Elio’s muffler around his head and neck, and kissed his forehead.

“Ready goose?”

_“Sì!”_ Elio replied. His green eyes sparkled, the fatigue and fever of the last couple of days no longer dulling them.

They headed out into the chilly morning. Their breath danced in puffs around them, and the cold nipped at their cheeks and noses. The trees and buildings were still lined in white, but the snow on the streets had begun to resemble sludgy tar. Oliver stepped to the curb, dodging the oily puddles, and hailed a cab.

They emerged in front of Francesca’s a few minutes later. Warm, sweet-smelling air welcomed them as they walked inside. Francesca was bringing some fresh bread in from the back room of the shop; her daughter, Anna, stood in front of the espresso machine pulling a shot.

_“Buongiorno,”_ Francesca called excitedly, setting the bread down and running around the counter to embrace Elio. She kissed him on both cheeks.

_“Ciao Francesca,”_ Elio said, kissing her in turn.

Francesca then turned to Oliver. She smiled warmly at him, her laugh lines crinkling the corners of her glittering dark eyes. “You must be the gorgeous boyfriend.”

Oliver blushed and smiled. “Uh, hello, I’m Oliver.”

“Francesca,” she said, holding out her hand. Oliver brought it to his lips.

Francesca flushed, and went on her tip-toes to kiss Oliver on both cheeks.

“Welcome. Whatever you boys want this morning is on the house.”

“Francesca, you never let me pay for anything,” Elio protested.

“It’s my shop. I can do what I want.”

“She always gets her way,” Anna called from the espresso machine. “Better just let her give you some coffee and pastries.”

Elio smiled at Anna. “I love your mother. She helps me feel less homesick.”

Anna smiled back. “I’m glad. Two espressos?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

Oliver moved toward a table, but Elio grabbed his arm and redirected him to his favorite place by the window.

“This is my spot,” he said. “Well, now it’s our spot.” He sank into one of the padded chairs, and gestured for Oliver to sit opposite him, smiling delightedly. Sunlight streamed in the window, glistening in Elio's dark curls and making emeralds of his eyes. Oliver wanted to fold him into his arms and kiss him for days. But they were not alone, so he had to settle for a brief caress to Elio’s arm before he slid into his seat. Elio beamed.

Francesca had disappeared into the back of the shop, but re-emerged as the smell of warm, sweet dough filled the air anew. She carried a tray of pastries. She piled most of them on a platter at the counter, but two she plated. Anna brought two espressos to her mother, who arranged everything on a tray before making her way over to Elio and Oliver.

Elio’s eyes expanded to comic proportions. _“Millefoglie!”_ he shouted. After Francesca had unloaded her tray, Elio stood up, wrapping her in a hug, and kissing her cheek tenderly. _“Grazie, grazie,”_ he said. Oliver didn’t miss the tears in his eyes.

_“Prego tesoro,”_ Francesca answered, patting Elio's back before releasing him gently. Then she spoke to Oliver: “These are popular in Milan, and your boy apparently lived on them when he was there. It’s a puff pastry filled with cream. Very nice with espresso.”

_“Grazie,”_ Oliver said, smiling sincerely at Francesca. “And thank you for making him so happy!”

“He's easy to please," Francesca replied, chuckling as she watched Elio tuck into his pastry with enthusiasm. She turned back to Oliver. "It’s hard to be an ocean away from your home country. I know what that’s like. I’ve always tried to make my _pasticceria_ feel like you’ve stepped off the street into Italy.”

“Do a lot of Italians come here?” Oliver asked.

_“Sì!_ My shop has become a hangout for Italians, and that’s just what I wanted when I opened it."

"That's wonderful!"

"Yes, I'm proud of it. When I first moved to New York, I was so lonely and missed Italy so much. I wanted to give other Italians a little solace from that.”

“You do,” Elio exclaimed, his mouth stuffed with pastry.

“Didn’t your mamma teach you not to talk with your mouth full?” Francesca teased.

“Yes, she did. Papá too. But this is too yummy…I can’t stop.”

Francesca tutted, and ruffled Elio’s hair.

“Looks like someone has his appetite back,” Oliver observed, grinning as Elio inhaled the pastry in a flurry of “Mmmms” and crumbs.

“This boy? He eats! Why did he not have an appetite?” Francesca asked as concern wrinkled her forehead.

“He’s just getting over the flu. His fever broke yesterday afternoon, and the first thing he wanted to do was come here this morning.”

“I thought you looked a little skinnier,” Francesca said to Elio, cupping his chin and looking carefully at his face. “I’ll bring more pastries.” She flitted back to the counter, and began speaking to Anna in rapid-fire Italian.

Oliver laughed. "She really is like your New York Italian mom. Or maybe a combination of your mom and Mafalda."

"Uh huh. She's the best. And wow, that was so good! What do you think?"

"I haven't tasted mine yet," Oliver said, laughing. He took a big bite, and immediately decided that Francesca's bakery needed to become a significant part of his life. "Oh my God. This is so good!" He sipped his espresso, and enjoyed the way the bitter coffee and the sweet, buttery goodness of the pastry mingled on his tongue. _"Delizioso."_

"I'm so glad you like it!"

In between bites, Oliver said quietly, "Hey, I saw you get teary a minute ago. What was that all about?"

"I was happy. But also a little sad. Does that make any sense?"

Oliver nodded. "Go on."

"I love New York so much,"Elio continued. "It's exciting and fun. And Juilliard is challenging and amazing...I'm learning so much. And getting to be with you all the time makes me so, so happy. It really does!"

"I know that, Elio. It makes me really happy too."

"I know! I feel so lucky. But I still miss home."

"I'm sure. I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"Yeah. Even though Milan is a big city too, it has an entirely different feel than New York. And of course Crema and New York might as well be on different planets. Actually, I think you wrote that in one of your letters to me."

"I think I did."

"Anyway, sometimes I just miss Italy, and being Italian. When I come here, I can just pretend I'm in Milan for a few minutes. I speak Italian with Francesca, and sometimes with other patrons too. I drink real Italian espresso. And the pastries! It helps."

"That all makes sense, goose." After checking to see if they were relatively unobserved, Oliver grasped Elio's hand, and squeezed it. Elio squeezed back. They filled their eyes with one another, finally releasing their grasp reluctantly.

Just then, Francesca reappeared with more _millefoglie,_ and a pot of espresso to refill their cups.

"This will help you get your strength back," Francesca said, winking at Elio and patting him on the shoulder. She turned to Oliver. "Did you take care of him when he was sick?"

"Yes, I did. I tried to do all the things my grandmother would have done for me."

"He took the BEST care of me," Elio told her. "My mom and Mafalda could not have given me better care."

"Don't let your mamma hear you say that! But I'm glad. _Grazie,_ Oliver."

Oliver blushed. "It was nothing. I was glad to help."

Francesca raised her eyebrows, and looked at Elio with a sly smile. "Gorgeous and humble. You hit the jackpot, _tesoro._ "

"I know," Elio whispered.

Francesca kissed the top of his head, and gave Oliver's shoulder a quick squeeze.

"I'll let you boys eat. Stay as long as you want."

They both called _"Grazie"_ after her as she returned to the counter.

Oliver lifted his espresso cup in a toast. "To killing the flu with pastries."

Elio picked up his cup, chuckling. "I dunno. The pastries are amazing, but I'm pretty sure my flu was already dead when we walked in here. Thanks to you." He thought for a moment. "To killing the flu with love?"

"I don't love the flu," Oliver deadpanned.

"OLIVER! You know what I mean."

A smile broke across Oliver's face, and he laughed, shaking his head. "Yes, I know what you mean. OK. To killing the flu with love."

"Cheers, _amore._ "

"Cheers."

They clinked their cups and sipped contentedly, savoring their espresso before round two of devouring pastries commenced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Italian words used in this chapter (if any readers are native speakers, PLEASE feel welcome to correct anything I got wrong!):
> 
> Sì: yes  
> amore: love, sweetheart  
> Buongiorno: Good morning.  
> millefoglie: a puff pastry filled with cream that is popular in Milan  
> Prego: You're welcome.  
> tesoro: literally "treasure," a term of endearment  
> grazie: thank you  
> delizioso: delicious  
> pasticceria: bakery/pastry shop


	3. Not All Things are Nice to Share

On Sunday morning, Elio and Oliver were awakened by the sound of the phone ringing. Oliver started to jump out of bed to answer it, but stopped abruptly, sitting tangled in the blankets and rubbing his forehead with both hands.

"Could you get that?" he rasped as he sank back into the mattress.

Elio shot him a quick look of concern before springing up and running to grab the phone.

"Hello, Oliver's phone."

"Hi, is this Elio?"

"That's me."

"Hi Elio, it's Jill."

"Oh hey Jill! Happy Thanksgiving break."

"Thanks, you too! How are you doing?"

"Well, I'm just getting over the flu, but Oliver took amazing care of me. I'm actually feeling pretty good this morning."

"Yay! So glad you're better! There was a nasty flu going around Miguel's department, but so far he's been spared."

"Yeah, it sucks. Hope he doesn't get it. Anyway, you probably want to talk to Oliver?"

"Actually, you can just share this with him: I was calling to invite you both to Thanksgiving dinner at our place."

"Oh wow, that's so nice of you!"

"We'd love to have you! I mentioned it to Oliver some weeks back, so I'm just calling to make it official."

"Jill, thanks so much. I'm sure we'd love to come!"

"Great! And hey, if you guys know anyone else who doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, they are welcome. We always sort of do a 'Friendsgiving' over here."

"You two are so thoughtful."

"We love having company! And Thanksgiving is our favorite holiday."

"OK, so what time? And what can we bring?" Elio asked.

"Why don't you come over around 4:00? We'll have some drinks, and then eat around 5:00 or 5:30."

"Sounds perfect."

"So as far as food is concerned: we'll do turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, and some green beans. And Miguel always makes a pumpkin pie."

"That all sounds so good. And for real, is there anything we can bring?"

"You don't need to bring anything but yourselves. Really! But if you want to, how about either mashed potatoes or a sweet potato dish?

"Sweet potatoes definitely!" Elio said, smacking his lips.

Jill laughed. "OK, that's settled! So glad you two can come."

"Thanks again! Looking forward to it, Jill."

"Us too! Tell Oliver hi, and you two enjoy your Sunday."

"Yep, hi to Miguel. See you soon!"

"OK! Bye Elio."

"Bye."

Elio hung up the phone, and came back into the bedroom. Oliver had not gotten up.

"Hey, did you hear all that?" Elio asked him, coming closer.

"Uh huh."

"Thanksgiving dinner at Jill and Miguel's. I said we'd love to come."

"Yep. That will be nice." Oliver was buried under the blankets, and he seemed to be shivering.

"Hey, it's not that cold in here," Elio observed.

"I'm freezing. Can't stop shaking." Oliver's teeth clattered together.

"Oh no," Elio sighed, approaching the bed and sitting down. He touched Oliver's forehead gently. "You're burning up. Oh Oliver, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to share my flu with you."

"It's all right. We share everything, right?"

"This would have been OK not to share."

"It happens, Elio."

"I'm just sorry it happened to you," Elio said, kissing Oliver's hot forehead tenderly. "But thanks to you, we have all the flu supplies we'll ever need. Shall I make you some tea?"

"I think I just want to sleep more."

"I'll let you, but not until I check your temperature. And you drink something. A very wise person once told me that I needed to stay hydrated when I had a fever."

Oliver turned his face into the pillow. "What an asshole."

Elio laughed and ruffled his hair. "Hey! I got well, so you should think better of him. Seriously, what can I bring you?"

"Just water please."

Elio went to get the thermometer first. He shook it down, and slid it under Oliver's tongue; they waited, and the mercury finally stopped rising at 102.2. "Sheesh, you beat me!" Elio said. "You don't have to work so hard at being sick, OK?" Oliver chuckled, and then started to cough. Elio brought him a full glass of water and waited until he drank most of it. Then he rubbed Oliver's back and shoulders until he fell asleep again, placing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades just before Oliver rolled onto his back.

Elio sat on the edge of the bed for some time, tracing Oliver's collar bone with one finger and watching the rapid rise and fall of his feverish chest as he slept. When Oliver's breathing began to settle into the patterns of deeper slumber, Elio rose as silently as he could and crossed the room. As he tiptoed out of the bedroom, he picked up the bag Dave had packed for him. He set it down beside the couch, and then went into the kitchen to make coffee and get some breakfast. Francesca had sent him home with a few extra pastries yesterday, so he unwrapped a giant blueberry muffin, and poured himself a big cup of coffee.

Returning to the couch with his breakfast, Elio seated himself cross-legged, balancing his plate on one knee. He held his coffee in both hands, relishing the warmth and inhaling the fragrant steam for a long, lingering moment before he took the first sip. "Mmmm," he said aloud. After a couple more sips and a big bite of his muffin, he set his mug down, and reached into his bag for a pen and paper. He'd been planning to write Marzia a letter today, and this seemed a good time with Oliver sleeping.

Sunday, November 18, 1984

Dear Marzia,

Bonjour! Comment vas-tu chérie? I was really happy to get your letter a couple of weeks ago, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write you back. I was also sorry to hear about you and Jean Marc, but it really sounds like you're doing fine with it (unless you were just putting on a brave face for your old friend...you know you don't need to do that with me, right?) It sucks that he turned into such a first-class jerk. I'm sorry, Marz. That's rough. But I'm really proud of you for standing up for yourself and telling him he was out of line. You are so much better off without him! We'll get a drink in Crema and toast your independence. Meanwhile, all the cute British guys who've no doubt been pining over you for the past couple of months have a chance now!

Hey, awesome news about your visit to New York in the spring to check out the exchange program at Columbia! I am so psyched about the idea of you being here for a week! If you want to stay longer, let me know, and I'll see if I can figure out some housing for you. You might be able to stay with my cousin Liz...I actually think you'd really like her. Anyway, keep me posted! We're going to have so much fun, mon amie!

I'm on Thanksgiving break, finally. Thanksgiving is only one day, the fourth Thursday in November, but we get a whole week off from school for it. Many Americans travel to see their families for the holiday...it's basically an occasion to get together with loved ones and enjoy feasting on the bounty of the fall harvest. And to be thankful that you can do all that, I guess. Oliver and I were invited to Thanksgiving dinner by Oliver's friends Jill and Miguel, who are becoming friends of mine too. They live in Brooklyn, and there's this awesome rooftop space on their apartment building. The last time we were over there, we all took our dinner plates up to the roof and watched the boats on the East River, and enjoyed the Manhattan skyline. Seeing as we just had our first snow of the season this past week, I guess we won't be on the roof this time, unfortunately, but Jill and Miguel's apartment is super cute and cozy. They've made an open invitation to anyone who doesn't have a place to go for Thanksgiving, so I think I'll call Liz. She had a falling out with her parents, so I doubt she'll be spending the holiday with them. I feel bad for her, but I think I understand better now why my father and Uncle Isaac don't get along well.

I'm just getting over the flu, and now poor Oliver has gotten it from me! I came down with it on Wednesday night, and I was so sick on Thursday that Dave, my roommate, actually called Oliver; Dave had to leave for Thanksgiving break, and didn't want me to be alone. He's a good guy. I really lucked out with such a thoughtful roommate...I hear roommate horror stories from some of my friends. It sounds like Helen is also an awesome roommate for you; I'm so glad, my friend.

Anyway, Oliver brought me over to his place on Thursday evening, and he took THE BEST care of me. By Friday evening, my fever had broken, and yesterday I really started to feel a lot better; we actually had an outing to Francesca's bakery. She had made millefoglie...I couldn't believe my luck! I was happy that Oliver finally got to meet her, and I think she really liked him. We stuffed ourselves with pastry and espresso, and it was fantastic!

When we woke up this morning, Oliver had come down with my flu, so he's in bed sleeping as I write this to you. At least mine was relatively short-lived, so I hope his will be as well. I'm going to make sure he eats some soup and is relatively OK, and then I'll head down to Juilliard for a couple of hours to practice. Side note: when I was sick, Oliver fed me with his grandmother's amazing chicken soup...he made it, of course, since Bubbie died last year, but it's her recipe. It was the perfect thing when I felt so awful, and luckily there's still some left for Oliver. Anyway, I haven't sat at the piano since Wednesday afternoon, so it's time to get back in the saddle. I have a lot of performances coming up in the next few weeks, so I can't afford to take much time off. I'll come back here this evening...I'm staying with Oliver for the whole break, which is pretty amazing. It keeps making me think about what it would be like if I actually really lived here. I find myself wondering whether Oliver is thinking about it too.

The next three weeks of school are going to be insane with final papers and exams, and several holiday season performances, so I may not have a chance to write to you again before I see you. But here's our schedule: Oliver and I will arrive in Milan on Sunday, December 16, and I think we'll head to Crema with Maman and Papà on Tuesday or Wednesday. We'll definitely be there by Wednesday evening the 19th...that's the first night of Hanukkah. It sounds like your family will be getting there on the 21st or 22nd? Give me a call when you get settled, OK?

Can't wait to see you, Marz!

Love,  
Elio

Elio folded and sealed the thin, crinkly "Air Mail" sheet on which he had written his letter, and addressed it to Marzia. He would mail it tomorrow. In the meantime, he decided to give Liz a call to see if she wanted to be part of their Thanksgiving gathering. But first, he went to check on Oliver. He seemed deeply asleep; when Elio kissed his hot temple, he didn't even stir. So Elio let him rest, and tiptoed out of the bedroom again, shutting the door so the phone call wouldn't bother him. He walked over to the phone, and dialed Liz's number. She answered on the second ring.

"Hello."

"Hey Liz, it's Elio."

"Hi! How are you?"

"I'm good now. I had the flu, but I'm feeling much better."

"Glad to hear it! Yeah, some people at Columbia have been sick too, but so far I've lucked out."

"Good. Hope you stay well! Oliver just came down with my flu this morning, which sucks. But hopefully he'll get over it as fast I did."

"I hope so. Poor Oliver!"

"I know. Ugh."

"So you're staying with Oliver over break?"

"Yep. It's really nice."

"I bet."

"What are you up to this week?" Elio asked her.

"I've picked up some extra shifts at the café, and I've got a paper to write for one of my classes. Otherwise, I'm just chilling out."

"Sounds good. I was actually wondering if you have plans for Thanksgiving?"

Liz took a deep breath before she answered. "Nope. I'm not going to my parents' place, that's for sure. The last conversation I had with them was so toxic. I'm just not going to do that to myself."

"Good for you, Liz. I think that's some smart self-care."

"Thanks cousin."

"So, in that case, how would you like to come have Thanksgiving with Oliver and me, and our friends?"

"Wow, really?!"

"Yes, really! Our friends Jill and Miguel invited us to their place for Thanksgiving dinner, and Jill said that we were welcome to invite anyone else we'd like to. I thought of you right away."

"Elio, that's really, really nice of you, and of Jill and Miguel."

"So, will you come?"

"Sure! I'd love to. Should I bring anything?"

"Only if you want to. Jill and Miguel are doing turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, and a pumpkin pie. Oliver and I are bringing a sweet potato dish because sweet potatoes are awesome."

"Agreed! They are so yummy!"

"I knew I liked you."

"Ha!"

"So anyway," Elio continued, "there will be plenty of food, and Jill said that no one has to bring anything."

"OK. I may make an apple pie, or bring some wine or something."

"Either one sounds great."

"Cool! So, where do Jill and Miguel live?"

"They're in Brooklyn. If you wanted, you could meet us here at Oliver's place, and we could all go together."

"Sounds good."

"OK, I can give you Oliver's address. Do you have a pen?"

"Uh, just a sec...OK, shoot."

"It's 200 W. 104th Street, the corner of 104th and Amsterdam. Oliver's in Apt. 4D."

"That's easy. What time should I come over?"

"Why don't you get here around 3:00?"

"That works. Thanks Elio! I'm really excited to meet Oliver, and your friends."

"Yay! So glad you can make it. See you on Thursday!"

"See you then. Bye cousin."

"Bye."

Elio hung up the phone with a smile. It touched him how happy Liz had seemed to be asked to join him and Oliver for Thanksgiving. He was enjoying getting to know his American cousin, especially since it seemed like she could use some family love right now. It would be fun to introduce her to Oliver.

Elio looked at his watch; it was just about noon. His own stomach was rumbling, and he wanted to get some of Bubbie's chicken soup into Oliver before he left him for a while to go practice at Juilliard. He heated up a little of the nourishing soup, and ladled it into a small bowl. He also poured Oliver a cup of tea, the same herbal blend that Oliver had made for him, and spooned in a generous dollop of honey after the tea had finished steeping. He arranged everything on Oliver's lap-sized tray, and carried it into the bedroom. Oliver did not seem to have moved, and Elio heard the sound of his wheezing breath as he approached the bed.

_He also needs some cough syrup,_ Elio thought. _But first food and tea._

He set the tray down on Oliver's bedside table, and lay down beside his love. Oliver was on his side, facing away. Elio snaked his hand under the covers and began gently caressing the hot skin of Oliver's back. "Oliver," he said quietly once, and hearing no response, again, a little louder. "Oliver."

Oliver stretched and yawned, rolling over. He seemed slightly confused. "Elio. Hi. Are you ok?" he mumbled.

Elio laughed. "I'm fine, thanks to you. It's my turn to take care of you. You have the flu now, remember?"

"Ugh, don't remind me."

"Sorry. There's no getting around it. Time to sit up, and have a little soup and tea."

Oliver sighed. "And I suppose the fact that I don't feel even remotely hungry is not going to deter you?"

"Damn right. No reason why the curative powers of Bubbie's soup should be limited just to me. C'mon, sit up." Elio pushed on Oliver gently to encourage him to move. Oliver groaned but finally complied, sitting up enough that Elio could arrange the pillows behind him. Then Elio set the tray on his lap.

"Look familiar?"

"Yep. I'll try to get all this down, OK? For you. Because you did it for me."

"I honestly felt better after I did. I hope you will too."

"Thanks goose."

"You're welcome. Eat! I'll be right back."

Elio went to the living area, where the bottle of cough syrup still sat on the coffee table from when he had been ill. He brought it into the bedroom. After his love had finished most of the soup and about half the tea, Elio could see his eyelids growing heavy again. He lifted the tray off of Oliver's lap, and kissed his forehead.

"See? You did it."

"Well, it does feel better to have a little something in my stomach. You were right."

"Actually, YOU were right. Remember?"

"Ha. OK. Go me," Oliver said, smiling weakly, and then coughing a little.

"Speaking of coughing, or well, doing it, time for some of this." Elio pointed to the bottle in his hand.

"Yuck, I hate that stuff."

"It's not going to win any taste tests, but it does help."

"I know," Oliver said, and accepted the spoonful of sticky red liquid that Elio offered him. He swallowed, and then made a face. "Gross."

Elio handed Oliver's water glass to him, and after a long drink, Oliver flopped over in bed. Elio helped him rearrange the pillows, and once again massaged his back and shoulders for a while.

"That feels so nice. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Elio kissed Oliver's hair, and the back of his neck. "You rest. I'm going down to Juilliard for a couple of hours to get some practice time in."

"You sure you feel up to that?" Oliver asked, his voice thick with sleepiness.

"Absolutely! I'm fine. I really feel almost 100% today. And besides, I've got so many performances coming up, I can't afford to take any more time off. I need to get back on the piano bench."

"I know, goose. Just take it a little easy, OK? And if you start to feel tired, come home."

_Home,_ Elio thought. _I like the sound of that. Home is where you are, Oliver._

"OK, I promise. I'll see you in a few hours."

"I'll be here. I probably won't even have moved," Oliver said through a huge yawn.

"That's OK. Just rest."

"Yep, that's the plan."

"I love you," Elio said, placing a gentle kiss in the middle of Oliver's back.

"Love you too. Play well."

Elio stood up and moved toward the bedroom door. "Later," he called over his shoulder. 

"Later," Oliver slurred, half asleep already.

Soon Elio was out the door, the chilly air bringing a flush to his cheeks, and his winter hat pushing his curls into a frame around his face. He stopped by Oliver's favorite deli (which was quickly becoming a favorite of his also) to pick up a sandwich for lunch. As he ate and walked, enjoying the November sunshine on his face, Elio could not stop thinking about the way Oliver had used the word _home_ a few minutes before. From his first weekend in New York, he'd noticed the ease with which they'd slid into domesticity, how effortlessly they seemed to share Oliver's apartment when they were together. But even so, Elio always tried to remember that he was a guest in Oliver's home. The idea that one day it might also be his home, or that they might choose a new home together, made his heart beat faster with excitement. Elio knew that Oliver had been feverish and nearly asleep when he'd said it, but that little word, _home,_ still made joy course through him. He couldn't help but smile at everyone he passed as he made his way downtown to Juilliard. _Don't worry, Oliver,_ he thought, _I'll be back home before you even miss me._

Elio picked up his pace. As he moved through the city, he began to think through what he wanted to accomplish at the piano, and order his thoughts into a rehearsal plan. Soon he was sitting in front of a Steinway baby grand in one of Juilliard's practice rooms. Elio took his music and a pencil out of his bag. He opened the first score and set it before him. He rolled up his sleeves, set his fingers on the keys, took a deep breath, and began to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elio's greeting to Marzia at the beginning of his letter (hopefully! I'm not a French speaker!) translates to "Hello! How are you, dear?" He also uses the phrase "mon amie" which means "my friend."
> 
> Millefoglie are Italian puff pastries filled with cream. They are apparently especially popular in Milan (where the Perlmans live when they aren't at the villa).


	4. Piano Practice and Marinara Sauce

Monday unfolded much the same way that Sunday had: Elio sat with Oliver in the morning, working on his own projects while Oliver rested on the couch. At midday, he made sure that his love ate a little soup and drank some tea. After lunch, when Oliver had collapsed into bed for an afternoon nap, Elio headed to Juilliard for some piano practice. He was glad to be back in front of his instrument working through the stack of music for his upcoming performances. It was deeply satisfying to get the notes under his fingers, and gradually begin shaping those notes into phrases and lines within the larger structures of each work. Elio never felt so completely at peace in his own skin as when he communed with the piano.

As engaged as he was in his music-making, the time passed quickly. When Elio looked up and realized that the sun was quite low in the November sky, he made a few notes to direct his practice for the next day, and then packed up his scores. Wrapping his scarf around his neck and stepping outside, he observed to himself that the city felt lighter, somehow, than it usually would on a Monday evening. Rather than sidewalks full of tired commuters, there was an entirely different energy; smiling tourists meandered along the streets, and families strolled together, holding hands and talking. The Thanksgiving holiday to come was already palpable.

Elio stopped at the grocery store down the block from Oliver's apartment to pick up a few ingredients for dinner. He was tired of chicken soup. Perhaps because he'd been missing Italy, Elio had spaghetti in mind. Some weeks ago during a phone call home, he'd asked Mafalda to send him her marinara sauce recipe; it had arrived in the mail early last week, along with a lovely note in her beautiful, flowing script. Elio had been learning to cook during his weekends at Oliver's place, and he was really enjoying it. He was eager to prepare Mafalda's marinara sauce for Oliver.

Ingredients purchased, Elio headed for _home,_ as he'd increasingly caught himself calling Oliver's apartment in his mind. He knew that it was probably not a good habit to adopt, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Where Oliver was felt like home to him.

Elio climbed the stairs eagerly, recalling how just a few days earlier he'd barely made it up two flights, never mind four. He unlocked Oliver's front door, and stepped inside. The living area was dark, but a pool of lamplight beckoned from the bedroom. Elio found the bed empty, and realized that Oliver was in the bathroom; he emerged a moment later. He looked tired, and his hair was sticking up spectacularly in every direction. But he seemed a bit steadier on his feet.

Elio walked to Oliver and folded him into his arms. Oliver's skin still seemed a little too warm, but not the burning fever of yesterday. Elio kissed his sternum through the open top button of his pajama top.

"Hi."

"Hi yourself," Oliver said, returning the hug, and kissing the top of Elio's curly head.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I think. I slept all afternoon...just woke up a few minutes ago."

"Well, you needed it," Elio told him. "Let's check your temperature."

Oliver's fever had come down a bit from yesterday and was hanging out around 100 degrees. Elio hoped it would break soon.

"I bought some groceries to make dinner."

"Thanks goose. I don't know how much I'll be able to eat, but I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

"What are we having?"

"It's a surprise," Elio said, smiling at him, and kissing his cheek.

Oliver raised one eyebrow. "All right, Mr. Mysterious."

Elio laughed. "Want to come relax on the couch while I work on dinner? You can keep me company."

"Sure, that sound good."

Oliver settled on the couch, and Elio tucked a light throw-blanket around his long legs. Then he stepped into the kitchen and filled a tall glass with water.

"Drink up."

"Yes sir." Oliver took several sips, and then set the glass down. "How was your practice session?"

"Good. I totally lost track of time, which is always a sign that I'm doing good work."

"Nice. You have a bunch of performances coming up, right?"

"Yeah. And my jury. That's during exam week."

"What's a jury?" Oliver asked.

Elio began unpacking the groceries. "It's when you play a few pieces that you've been working on for your teacher and other faculty members. So Dr. Shapiro will be there, and a couple of other colleagues he invites. Juries are one of the ways that you're evaluated on your progress in private lessons."

"Sounds scary."

"Well, it's a little nerve-racking, but Dr. Shapiro will have my back. I know I've been working hard and improving this semester, and he seems pleased so far. I think it'll be fine."

"That's good. You're so brave, Elio."

"Aw, thanks. It's just part of the music performance world. Anyway, I'm also playing on a fellow student's recital the week we get back from break. And our piano trio has a few holiday season gigs...we realized we could make a little money if we worked up some Christmas carols. I'm doing several arrangements, and so is our cellist...he's a good arranger."

"Anything I can come to?"

Elio started chopping an onion. "Well, we're playing on a noon concert series at a church in midtown in a couple of weeks. That's free. I'll check my calendar later and tell you the date."

"Cool. I'd love to come."

"It would be awesome to see you there!"

"Is that a Christmas carols concert?"

"No, not really. It's a chamber music series, so we'll play mostly classical repertoire. But we'll probably do one or two holiday pieces as encores."

"Sounds good."

"Oh, I've been meaning to tell you," Elio said, raising his voice over the sound of the onion sauteeing in olive oil, "I have a surprise for you."

"Really? Besides the food? And WOW is that starting to smell yummy, by the way."

"Good! I'm glad," Elio said as he opened cans of tomatoes. "And yes, besides dinner. So, one of my favorite pianists, Vladimir Ashkenazy, is performing Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto with the New York Philharmonic next weekend. I got us tickets for Saturday night. I hope you can go with me."

Oliver sat up, propping his arms on the back of the couch. "Oh Elio, I'd love to! I really enjoy going to the symphony, but do it so rarely. So who's this Vladimir guy?"

Elio stirred the marinara sauce, which was simmering nicely, and then began hunting in Oliver's cabinets for a pot to cook pasta. "Vladimir Ashkenazy. He's a Russian-born pianist and, more recently, conductor. He lives in Switzerland now but performs all over the world. He's made so many great recordings, but I especially enjoy his interpretations of Rachmaninoff. I'm super excited to see him perform live!"

"That sounds awesome! And since you got our tickets, may I take you to dinner first?"

"A proper date? Yes please," Elio called, smiling as he sat a large pot of water on the stove to boil.

"That'll be good incentive for me to get 100% well by then."

"You actually seem a lot better this evening. I hope your fever will break soon. Maybe tonight."

"I hope (cough cough cough) so too," Oliver sighed, continuing to cough as he sank back into the couch cusions.

_"Povero bambino,"_ Elio cooed, coming over to check on him. He stroked Oliver's golden hair, smoothing it back from his still-too-warm forehead. "I'll stop making you talk. Dinner should be ready in about 10 minutes."

_"Grazie amore,"_ Oliver replied, closing his eyes. Elio bent to kiss his forehead, and then returned to the kitchen.

When everything was ready, Elio put a modest serving in a bowl for Oliver, and dished up a heartier portion for himself; his appetite really had returned with gusto. He brought the food to the living area, and sat down on the floor beside the couch. Oliver was dozing, but the aroma of the hot meal began to awaken his senses.

"Smells so good," he said, eyes still closed.

"I'm glad. Wake up and eat some."

"Trying," Oliver said.

"I know, _amore._ " Elio kissed each of his closed eyes, and then the tip of his nose. "This is not just any spaghetti. This is Mafalda's marinara sauce. She sent me her recipe."

At that, Oliver's eyes opened, and he smiled with delight. "Sold," he said, sitting up, and holding out his hands for the bowl.

The next few minutes were quiet as they both enjoyed a taste of Mafalda's Italy an ocean away in New York City.

"Mmmmm. This is the best spaghetti I've ever had," Oliver said. He ate slowly, but eventually made his way through the whole bowl of pasta.

Elio had eaten his serving quickly, but waited until Oliver was done before getting up for seconds. "Would you like any more?" he called to Oliver from the kitchen.

"No, thank you. But that was so good."

"I'm glad. It wasn't quite as good as Mafalda's. I'll have to make it with her when we're in Italy next month and see what I missed. But it was a good first attempt."

"It was really delicious."

"Thanks Oliver."

Elio came back with his bowl refilled. "Want to watch the Knicks game? I think it's starting about now."

"Sure. I'll try to stay awake."

"Rest if you need to. I can fill you in if you fall asleep."

Elio turned on the TV, and settled in the chair next to Oliver. They enjoyed the game as Elio ate a second helping of pasta. Oliver dozed a bit, but was awake for some of the best plays. The Knicks won handily, with both Elio and Oliver cheering them on.

After dinner, Oliver faded quickly; his energy simply ran out. Elio helped him get comfortable in bed, rubbing his neck and back until he was breathing deeply in restful slumber. With Oliver tucked in and sleeping soundly, Elio came back to the kitchen to wash the dinner dishes. As he stood at the sink scrubbing a skillet, his thoughts kept returning to how comfortable it felt to be here with Oliver all the time, and how easily they seemed to share space. Before Oliver, Elio hadn't thought much about living with a lover; it had always seemed like something that might happen someday, years in the future. But Oliver had changed everything. Elio loved all the extra time that co-habitating gave them: talking as they cooked and cleaned, quick moments to hug and kiss in the midst of busy days, and of course getting to cuddle in bed each night (even when one of them was sick). It was all wonderful. Elio realized that he was beginning to count down the remaining days of the break; when he thought about living in his dorm room again, it seemed so cold and lonely in his mind's eye. He knew, rationally, that he would be happy to see Dave and his friends again, and that once he was back at school, he'd quickly fall back into the rhythms of his busy Juilliard days. But he also really didn't want this week to end.

Elio sighed as he dried the skillet and put it away. He could imagine what Oliver would say if he brought up the idea of them living together: _You're in college, and you should enjoy that time with your friends. Don't try to fast-forward through these years. I'm not going anywhere._ Oliver was always mindful of their age difference, and the fact that they were at different stages in their lives. Elio knew that he was probably right, but that didn't stop him from wanting to be with Oliver all the time. Still, he reasoned to himself, nothing had to be decided tonight. Elio wiped the stove and countertops clean, and switched off the kitchen light. A few minutes later, he slipped into bed beside Oliver. He wrapped his arms around his love, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in hearing Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, the piece that Elio and Oliver will hear at the symphony, here is a recording of it. The performer is Elio's (and my!) beloved Vladimir Ashkenazy. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2ESywB4ZhM


	5. Letters after Thanksgiving Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, to anyone who is still with me and reading, THANK YOU. This fall has been unrelenting, and I've been having a doozy of a time carving out writing time. But I miss our dear boys, and I'm going to try hard to spend more time with them.
> 
> Here's a little chapter...Elio and Oliver both felt like writing letters the day after Thanksgiving.
> 
> If anyone wants a preview of the concert that Elio and Oliver will attend in the next chapter, here's a recording of Vladimir Ashkenazy playing Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto. Take a listen:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2ESywB4ZhM

Friday, November 23, 1984

Dear Vimini,

Hello, my friend. How are you doing? I hope that you're feeling well, and having a lovely autumn in Italy. It's beginning to feel a bit more like winter here in New York since we had our first snow of the season last week. It was beautiful, but it didn't last long; the sun came out the next day and melted most of it away. I'll take the sunny days while we have them, though, because New York is very gray once winter truly settles in.

Did your paper on Leonardo Da Vinci turn out well? I'll be interested to hear how you decided to focus it. I thought you had some great ideas when you last wrote to me. We can talk more in person very soon! It's looking like the Perlmans and I will be arriving in Crema on Wednesday, December 19, so that we can celebrate the first night of Hanukkah there. Let me know when your family gets there!

Yesterday was the American holiday, Thanksgiving. It's basically a feasting day, a time to gather with family and/or friends to celebrate the autumn harvest, eat way too much, and relax a bit. After my unpleasant time with my parents the morning after Father's retirement party, I had no desire to go to Connecticut for Thanksgiving. I had planned to just stay home and spend time with Elio. But happily, my friends Jill and Miguel ended up inviting Elio and me for Thanksgiving dinner at their cozy place in Brooklyn, and that was really delightful. Jill is a colleague in my department at Columbia, and Miguel is in the biology department. They always host a "Friendsgiving," as they call it, because they don't usually spend Thanksgiving with their families. Jill is not particularly close to her parents, something that she and I talk about regularly; also, her family lives on the west coast of the United States, so traveling home is very expensive for her, especially for holidays. And Miguel is from Spain, so he can only go home once a year at most. Anyway, they've decided to make a New York family of friends, and Elio and I are very lucky to be included. They accept our relationship without question, and treat us just like any other couple...it's really remarkable.

Elio's cousin Liz, who lives here in Manhattan, also joined us for Thanksgiving. Elio has been getting to know her, and I was happy to meet her over the holiday. She's in the physical therapy program at Columbia, and is a little older than Elio, 22, I think. Her father is Professor Perlman's brother, Elio's Uncle Isaac. Apparently the Perlman brothers have not gotten along well for many years, so Liz has not been to Crema since she was quite young, before you were born. She and Elio do resemble one another somewhat...same green eyes, and hair color. They could be siblings. Liz is a little shy, but she warmed up throughout the evening at Jill and Miguel's. She seems perfectly comfortable with Elio and me being together (can you tell that it still surprises me when people are accepting of us?), and she was very pleasant company. She has a dry, clever sense of humor, and had us all laughing several times during our gathering. Perhaps she'll come visit in Crema one day so you can meet her.

We had so much food! Jill and Miguel cooked a BIG turkey and stuffed it with a delicious bread dressing seasoned with celery, onions, apples, and spices. We also had cranberry sauce, green beans, baked sweet potatoes that Elio and I brought, rolls baked by Jill and Miguel's friend Lucy (a colleague of Miguel's in the biology department who is really nice), an apple pie that Liz made, a pumpkin pie, and LOTS of wine. It was quite a meal! And it was such nice time with friends.

Elio and I are both recovering from the flu. Elio caught it last week, and just as he was beginning to feel better, I came down with it. It was no fun. I had fever for three days, and though I'm feeling significantly better, I still don't quite have my normal level of energy. But in spite of being sick, it's been lovely to spend so much time with Elio, just living normal life. He's stayed with me during the entirety of his Thanksgiving Break (colleges and universities close for the whole week so that students can travel home to be with their families), so I was very glad to be able to take care of him when he was sick. I channeled a lot of "Bubbie Wisdom" during that time; I'm grateful for all that she taught me about so many things, but I was especially thinking of her gentle, healing hands this past week. When I got sick, Elio was really thoughtful and kind in the ways that he took care of me. I'm used to having to tough it out alone when I'm ill, so this was a welcome change.

We have gotten to do a few fun things this week, in spite of us both being sick. Last weekend, Elio took me to a wonderful bakery that he discovered not long after starting his studies at Juilliard. The owner, Francesca, is an Italian woman who has lived in the U.S. for many years now. She tries to make her _pasticceria_ (see, I learned an Italian word!) feel as Italian as possible, and a lot of her customers are, in fact, Italians. Elio loves going there, especially when he's feeling a little homesick; he can speak Italian with Francesca and other patrons, have real Italian espresso, and eat delicious pastries (we had _millefoglie!_ It was amazing!). I think it's really good for him, and I'm glad that this little slice of Italy exists for Elio (and other Italians missing Italy) in New York City.

Today, we had a wonderful time at the Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art). It was crowded with all the Thanksgiving tourists, and we only stayed a couple of hours since I'm still a bit tired from my flu. But the exhibit we saw, _Van Gogh in Arles,_ was extraordinary. You would have loved it! I bought you a few postcards of paintings from the exhibit; I'll bring them to you next month.

Tomorrow night, Elio and I are having a proper date, and I'm so excited about it. Elio got New York Philharmonic tickets for us, and the guest artist is this Russian pianist, Vladimir Ashkenazy, who Elio says is one of the greatest pianists of our time. He's playing Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto, a piece which I don't know at all, but Elio tells me that I'll fall completely in love with it. I can't wait to hear it! Before the concert, I'm taking him out to dinner at a lovely little French restaurant near Lincoln Center (which is where the New York Phil plays). After our respective flus, and having to spend so much of this week lying around at home, I'm very excited for our evening out!

I'm also really looking forward to seeing you in just a few short weeks! It will be a joy to be in Italy again, and to spend time with you, and with the Perlmans. Elio and I will also be taking a short side-trip to Rome after Christmas so that I can interview a professor at the University of Rome about my new buddy, Aristarchus of Samos, to hopefully help focus my research for the book. There are also some materials in the university's archives that I really want to look at, and this professor, Dr. Serra, is being kind enough to give me access during the holidays even though the university is closed. It will be good to meet him face-to-face; his letter was very cordial. Of course, Professor Perlman made the initial connection. Sometimes I think Pro knows EVERYONE. He has been so generous with his support of my career.

Well, I should probably sign off and let you get back to whatever you're doing today. It will be so great to see you! Will it be too chilly to sit on our rock, do you think? I usually don't mind cold, but I'm not sure what to expect from the wintertime weather in Crema. I guess I'll find out soon enough.

Take good care of yourself, dear Vimini, and I'll see you in a few weeks!

Your friend,  
Oliver

Friday, November 23, 1984

Dear Maman and Papá,

This will probably be my last letter before I see you; I can't wait to hug you both in Italy! Oliver and I will be there in less than four weeks. It's hard to believe that my first semester of college is almost over.

I'm sitting on Oliver's couch, and he's at his little kitchen table writing a letter to Vimini. I know he's really looking forward to seeing her next month. Those two have a truly remarkable friendship. If Vimini was older, and a guy, I might be a little jealous. But since she is neither, I can just be happy that they have such a special relationship. I think Oliver is sort of like an older brother to her, and Vimini is the little sister, wise beyond her years, that Oliver always wished he had...that's my best guess, anyway.

We've had a good Thanksgiving break, in spite of being sick for much of it. I caught the flu just before the break started, and then I ended up giving it to poor Oliver. But thankfully, I was better before he got sick, so I could take care of him. It was only fitting since when I was sick, he came over to Juilliard to pick me up (Dave called him because he was worried about me!), brought me to his place, and took THE BEST care of me. I'm convinced that I recovered much faster than I would have otherwise because of all that he did for me. He thought of everything, and made me feel so safe and loved. I already knew that Oliver was a thoughtful person, but this experience brought that into focus for me in a whole new way. I only hope that when he was sick, I took care of him half as well as he cared for me. I'm so glad that he's feeling better now, almost 100% he says.

Once I recovered, I got back into the groove with piano practicing, and I've been able to put in a few good hours of work each day this week. I have a number of performances coming up before winter break, and of course my jury too...it's going to be a busy time! This week I also got a head-start on my paper about Palestrina's _Missa Sine Nomine_ (which J. S. Bach studied as he was working on his Mass in B Minor!) for my music history class. I have one other paper left this semester; I'm going to write about Sallinger's _The Catcher in the Rye_ for my final paper in my English class. I'll be sorry to see that class end. I've really enjoyed both the reading list and the professor. I hope I can take another class with her at some point.

My first American Thanksgiving was so nice! Our friends Jill and Miguel invited us over for their annual "Friendsgiving," and it was really delightful. I also invited Liz to join us; she and her parents had a huge fight recently (it sounds like Uncle Isaac and Aunt Muriel said some awful things to her!), and she doesn't want to see them right now. She seemed really happy to be included. And one other friend, Miguel's colleague Lucy, was there. It was a really nice group...we had great conversation, and laughed a lot. Jill and Miguel's apartment is so adorable...cozy but not cluttered, warm lighting, lots of houseplants, comfy furniture, and a super-sweet, very fluffy little dog named Max. I truly felt welcome there. And we had SO MUCH FOOD! Jill and Miguel stuffed a big turkey, and had some of the other standard Thanksgiving food...cranberry sauce, green beans, and a pumpkin pie. Liz made an apple pie that was really delicious, Lucy brought home-made rolls, and we brought a sweet potato dish. I've been having fun learning to cook, so this was another opportunity for me to make something. Oliver helped, and I think it turned out pretty well! Earlier this week, I made pasta with Mafalda's marinara sauce. I didn't think it was quite as good as Mafalda's, but Oliver loved it.

Anyway, after we all stuffed ourselves at Thanksgiving dinner, we played a game of charades, which was lots of fun. Jill and Lucy were on my team, and we seemed to be on the same wavelength; during one round, they guessed my movie title, _Raiders of the Lost Arc,_ in about 15 seconds!

Oliver continues to be amazed that Jill and Miguel accept us as a couple. I love that they do, of course, but I don't find it strange so much as evidence of two things: they are both terrific people, and the world is changing, slowly but surely. It's really nice to have another couple to hang out with. For me, what is more remarkable than their acceptance of Oliver and I being together is their welcoming of me, an 18-year-old undergrad, into their circle of friends. They are in their late-20s, and if it was me, I'm not sure I'd want to hang out with a teenager. But they've been nothing but kind and friendly to me.

Tomorrow night, Oliver and I are going to hear Vladimir Ashkenazy play Rach 2 with the New York Phil! I'm so excited!!! Oliver doesn't know the piece at all, so it will be fun to be with him as he experiences it for the first time. Dr. Shapiro knows Mr. Ashkenazy, so he's going to try to catch him and introduce me; I'm supposed to meet him at the stage door after the concert. I hope I don't say anything stupid, and that I can speak at all!

I'm getting really excited for winter break. As much as I'm loving Juilliard and New York, it will be so nice to come home for a few weeks. Oh, by the way, I finally took Oliver to Francesca's _pasticceria_ last weekend, and he loved it! I'm so glad that they've met each other now. I really look forward to introducing you two to Francesca the next time you're in New York.

One more thing: Oliver did hear back from Dr. Serra, and he's offered to sit for an interview, and give Oliver access to the university archives. So we will be going to Rome for a couple of days after Christmas. We're tentatively thinking of going on December 27, but we'll figure out the specifics when we get to Italy.

Well, it looks like Oliver is wrapping up his letter, so I should do the same. I need to head over to Juilliard to practice for a bit this afternoon. These weeks are going to fly by, and then I'll be hugging both of you in the Milan airport. I really can't wait!

Love and kisses,  
Elio


	6. Saturday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and happy 2020! If anyone is still with me, THANK YOU! I have not abandoned this story...life outside of writing has simply been unrelenting the past few months. I hope to be posting somewhat more regularly again, and will do my very best! As always, I love hearing from you...your comments and encouragement have meant the world to me as I (slowly) tell this story about our dear boys. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Here's a short chapter, and in the next one, the guys will finally get their date night! Yahoo! :-)
> 
> Elio's two non-English phrases translate as follows:
> 
> Sto davvero bene. -- I'm doing really well. (Italian)
> 
> Je suis très heureux -- I'm very happy. (French)
> 
> I'm not a native speaker of either of these languages, so please forgive inaccuracies...they are definitely unintentional. Native speakers: you are ALWAYS welcome to correct me. Thank you!

When he awoke on Saturday morning, Oliver found himself wrapped in Elio, his silky curls tickling Oliver's chest, and long limbs tangled around him. The sun streamed in the window and warmed their bed. Gently, Oliver freed his arms and pulled Elio close, kissing every bit of skin and hair that he could reach. Elio began to stir, and opened sleepy eyes slowly, scooting up so that Oliver could kiss him properly. As their lips and tongues enjoyed their morning conversation, Oliver rolled them over, burying one hand in Elio's curls and letting the other roam over sleep-warmed flesh. As he trailed kisses down Elio's satiny neck, he found his thoughts inexplicably wandering back to this time last fall, when he'd still been engaged to JoAnn, and everything in his life had felt so terrifying. He'd awoken beside her on many a Saturday morning in that other life. But if she was still sleeping, he usually tried to slip out of bed without disturbing her, rationalizing to himself that she needed her rest. Sometimes, though, he was caught by her bright brown eyes smiling at him; he could not help but smile back, and he would take her in his arms. But when they made love, his thoughts always turned to Elio, and the guilt he felt afterwards was stifling.

"Hey, you OK?" Elio asked, pulling Oliver back to the present. He searched Oliver's face with concerned eyes as his warm hands cupped Oliver's face and stroked his morning stubble.

Oliver realized he had stopped kissing Elio; he closed his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath. "Yeah. Sorry. My thoughts just went to a strange place...don't know why."

"You can tell me anything, you know."

"I know, Elio. I really do. It's just hard to talk about my past sometimes."

"It might help to try," Elio said, settling his head on Oliver's shoulder.

Oliver kissed his soft curls. "You know, you're probably right. So...I don't know why, but just now, my thoughts went back to when I was engaged to JoAnn. I was so confused and unhappy during that time. And I missed you terribly."

"Do you still feel bad about breaking up with her?" Elio asked quietly as his fingers traced soft patterns along Oliver's arm.

"Well, bad like it was the wrong thing to do? No. Never. But bad for leading on a good person who didn't deserve it? Yes. I wish I had found the courage to be my true self sooner."

"You did the best you could, Oliver."

"That's kind of you to say, considering that I also hurt you."

"That's all in the past. We're together now," Elio said tenderly, kissing Oliver's shoulder.

Oliver squeezed him. "I know, goose. And I'm so glad. There aren't words to express how glad I am. But I just feel like I made a lot of mistakes along the way."

"So, congratulations, you're human. Oliver, people make mistakes. The question is what you do when you realize you've made them." Elio propped himself up on one elbow so he could look into Oliver's eyes. Blue met green steadily. "In your case, you realized that you wanted to change course, and you did. That took courage. It would have been so much easier to simply stay on the path you were on at this time last year...get married, move forward with the life that your parents expected of you. That's what a lot of people would have done."

"I almost didn't change course. I nearly went through with the marriage." Oliver shuddered.

Elio kneaded his shoulder. "But you didn't. It had to have been so hard to break JoAnn's heart, but you ultimately saved her, and yourself, from a lot of sadness and pain down the road."

"That's what I kept telling myself at the time."

"It's true! Do you doubt it?"

"No, I don't. It was just really tough. Even though I didn't want to marry JoAnn, I still cared about her and respected her. She deserved better."

"Oliver, you did your best. Our culture doesn't exactly make it easy for gay and bi people to be their true selves. I'm sure that JoAnn knows somewhere, in her heart, that you didn't set out to hurt her. And if she's as smart as you say she is, she probably also understands that your honesty saved you both from an unhappy marriage."

Oliver sighed, and pulled Elio back into his arms. "I know that this is where I'm supposed to be, and who I'm supposed to be with," he said, holding Elio close. "I just wish the road to get there hadn't been so rough. Both for you, and for JoAnn."

"Well, it sounds like she's doing fine now, from what your mother said. If she's got a new boyfriend, she's moving on. As for me," Elio said, bringing his face an inch from Oliver's, _"Sto davvero bene. Je suis très heureux."_

"Oh, that's not fair," Oliver said, rolling them over so that Elio was stetched out under him. "You know you drive me completely bananas when you speak Italian. Or French."

 _"Oui,"_ Elio said, his eyes sparkling playfully.

"All right, you. If you were thinking of getting up anytime soon, your plans have been officially thwarted."

Elio struck a pose, holding his hand to his forehead dramatically."Oh no! I really wanted to leave this warm bed and my gorgeous boyfriend! Whatever will I do?"

Oliver laughed. "Eighteen-year-olds."

Elio stuck out his tongue. "Twenty-five-year-olds. Will you stop worrying and kiss me please?"

Oliver answered by doing exactly that. Again and again and again.

"Now, where was I?" Oliver asked, resuming his exploration of Elio's neck. "I'm sure I didn't kiss this spot nearly enough." Kiss. "Or this one." Kiss. "Or right here." Kiss, kiss, kiss.

Elio's eyes were closed. "Elio. ElioElioElioElioElio."

"Ol-i-ver."

Oliver loved the way Elio clung to him when they made love, as if he simply could not get close enough. He adored the feeling of all of Elio's skin pressed against all of his own. As their bodies came together, Oliver felt a little of the pain he'd held for the past year begin to release. He was glad that he'd opened up to Elio about where his thoughts had gone. Elio was right...it had helped. His heart felt simultaneously full and lighter. He pulled Elio impossibly closer, and lost himself in his kisses.

Later that morning, after a leisurely shower, they sat drinking coffee on Oliver's couch. Elio held their symphony tickets in his hand.

"The concert starts at 7:30," he said. He was bouncing in his seat, his eyes wide with excitement.

Oliver laughed. "Maybe you'd better lay off the coffee!"

Elio giggled delightedly, and then made an effort to sit still. "I'm just really looking forward to this!"

"I know, goose. I'm so glad I get to be there with you." Oliver reached for his hand.

Sipping coffee with their hands entwined, they made their plan for the day: Elio would work on his paper that morning, and go practice piano at Juilliard for a few hours after lunch. Then he and Oliver would meet at the restaurant for a 6:00 pm reservation.

"I love today!" Elio exclaimed.

Oliver smiled and squeezed his hand. They finished their coffee and then got moving. While Elio sat at the kitchen table working on Oliver's typewriter, Oliver stretched out on the couch and combed through some research materials for his new book, taking notes on a legal pad. He was already thinking about what he would ask Professor Serra when they met in Rome next month; he wanted to be well-prepared for this potentially important interview.

In the afternoon while Elio was practicing at Juilliard, Oliver threw in a load of laundry, and worked on his lesson plans for the coming week. It was hard to believe that Thanksgiving Break was coming to an end. It had been such a joy to have this time with Elio; Oliver continued to be amazed by how easy it was to have him here, sharing his apartment, and how much he enjoyed it. Oliver had never lived with a lover, not even JoAnn; they had not planned to move in together until after they were married. He had had roommates, of course, and he was glad those days were over. Once he'd finally gotten his own place, he thought he'd be loath to share it with anyone. But Elio had changed that. Oliver couldn't help imagining what it would be like to have him here all the time. He loved the idea. But he kept coming back to their age difference, and not wanting to deprive Elio of the fun, life-shaping experiences that come from living in a community of friends in college. It's too soon, he thought to himself. Give it time. I'm not going anywhere, and if he still wants me after college, we can get a place together then.

But just thinking if he still wants me caused Oliver's breath to catch. The idea of Elio not desiring him anymore, outgrowing him, was utterly terrifying. Oliver's thoughts began to spiral into the imagination of a life without Elio, and the pain paralyzed him. Ever since he was a child, Oliver had always visualized the worst, as if trying to prepare himself for the next fallout that was inevitably waiting, just around the corner. It was an old habit, but he was beginning to see that it no longer served him. He made his leaden legs move, and walked to the window, looking out across the sunny New York City afternoon. He took several deep, slow breaths, and thought about Elio...the mix tape he'd made Oliver for his difficult trip to Connecticut, the way he'd taken care of him through his flu, his excitement about sharing tonight's concert with Oliver, they way that Elio seemed to know how to draw the hard stuff out of him when they talked, the bliss that their lovemaking, and even just holding hands, brought them both. Oliver turned around, taking in all the signs of Elio around the room: his backpack on the floor beside the couch; his papers stacked beside the typewriter, one sheet still poised in the carriage; his cup from this morning left on the coffee table. Oliver walked to that cup, and picked it up. A swig of coffee remained in the bottom, and he lifted it to his lips and drank it. It felt like bringing Elio closer to him in that moment.

The panic had passed. Oliver sat down on the couch, and rested his head in his hands for a few moments. Maybe he would never stop expecting the worst, but hopefully he was getting better at interrupting the dark thought patterns before they engulfed him. When he lifted his eyes, his gaze settled on a sweatshirt of his that Elio had been wearing that morning and left lying across the couch. Oliver reached for it and held the soft cloth to his face for a moment, breathing in Elio's familiar, comforting scent. Then he put it on, enjoying Elio's warmth as it surrounded him. Oliver smiled, hugging himself. Elio loved him. And they were doing their best to build something healthy and true, something that would last. That's all Oliver needed to know right now. He took a deep breath, and went to check on the laundry.


End file.
